I watched quietly as a Sister of Charity bent down and gently cupped the face of a young mother who had just given birth to a baby girl. The nun smiled warmly, nodded toward the tiny newborn wrapped in a faded blanket, and whispered words of encouragement in Amharic. Though I couldn’t understand the language, I didn’t need a translation. Love has a way of speaking for itself.
The Missionaries of Charity in Addis Ababa, founded by Saint Mother Teresa, have devoted their lives to serving “the poorest of the poor.” Their days are marked by sacrifice, compassion, and remarkable simplicity. They care for abandoned children, young mothers rejected by their families, people dying of HIV/AIDS, and individuals living with profound disabilities.
My work with a humanitarian nonprofit had brought me to Addis Ababa for eight days to partner with local ministries providing mobility aids and holistic care for people with disabilities. As I accompanied one of the sisters on her rounds, I noticed the dust rising beneath her worn sandals, settling along the hem of her white sari with blue stripes. She walked slowly and intentionally, stopping every few feet to stroke a child’s cheek, adjust a blanket, or offer a gentle word to someone sitting alone in a wheelchair.
There was nothing hurried about her. Nothing performative. Every interaction seemed to say, You are seen. You are loved. You matter.
My heart stirred.
Suddenly, I was transported back to earlier seasons of my life overseas—dressing wounds in remote villages, making rounds with nurses in rundown hospitals, and sitting beside new mothers as they learned to nurse their babies. Much of my nursing career was spent serving in rural communities, where I had the sacred privilege of welcoming new life into the world and caring for those preparing to leave it. Those experiences profoundly shaped my faith, teaching me to recognize Christ in both suffering and joy.
Yet as I walked through the sisters’ compound that day, another emotion surfaced.
Longing. Or was it guilt?
No. If I am honest, it was jealousy.
In the midst of my admiration for these selfless women, I found myself wrestling with an uncomfortable envy. I knew God had not called me to live the life of a nun—but standing in their presence, I suddenly felt small. Ordinary. As though my own obedience somehow measured less.
In an instant, I was comparing my history with theirs, my ministry with theirs, my sacrifices with theirs, even my motives with theirs. The enemy had quietly shifted my eyes away from celebrating God’s work in them and onto evaluating my own worth.
Comparison has a way of doing that.
Proverbs 14:30 says: “A heart at peace gives life to the body, but envy rots the bones” (NIV).
What a vivid picture. Envy doesn’t merely distract us—it slowly eats away at us from the inside. Like decay hidden beneath the surface, comparison quietly erodes gratitude, steals joy, and clouds our vision. It whispers that God’s goodness toward someone else somehow means less goodness for us, and that faithfulness is measured by visibility, sacrifice, or extraordinary stories rather than simple obedience. Instead of celebrating another person’s faithfulness, we begin measuring our own value against theirs.
But Scripture reminds us otherwise.
“For we are God’s handiwork, created in Christ Jesus to do good works, which God prepared in advance for us to do.” Ephesians 2:10 (NIV)
Not just their good works, rather the works God has prepared for us to do.
God never asks us to imitate another person’s assignment. He simply asks us to be faithful with the one he has entrusted to us.
As I reflected later on the image of the sister’s worn sandals, I was reminded to embrace my own calling—to love faithfully where God has planted me. Nothing had changed about God’s calling on my life. My years of serving overseas had not become less meaningful. My present work had not become less valuable. My family had not become less of a gift. The only thing that changed was where I fixed my gaze. When my eyes shifted from Christ to someone else’s calling, peace disappeared.
Perhaps you’ve experienced this too. Maybe you’ve looked at someone else’s ministry, family, career, or spiritual gifts and quietly wondered why your life doesn’t look more like theirs.
If so, invite the Lord into that place. Let him search your heart. Comparison often reveals an insecurity that only his love can heal.
Then choose a different response.
Rejoice in the work God is doing through others, whether across the ocean or across the street. Pray for them. Encourage them. Celebrate their faithfulness without diminishing your own!
Your calling may not leave dust on the hem of a white sari in Ethiopia . . .
Instead, it may leave fingerprints on a child’s lunchbox, kindness in a coworker’s heart, a word of encouragement for a stranger, or hope in the life of a lonely neighbor.
None of those acts are unseen by God.
Walk your path with joy. Cheer for those walking theirs. And trust that the God who called you knows exactly where your feet are meant to go.
The Kingdom of God is not built by everyone doing the same thing. It is built as each believer faithfully walks the unique path God has prepared. Where has God uniquely placed you to love and serve others in this season? Is there someone whose faithfulness you need to celebrate rather than compare yourself to?
